On This Foundation

  The fact that this crisis had slowed their work frustrated him. Only half of his men now rebuilt the wall, wearing swords at their sides while they labored. The other half stood guard, equipped with spears, wooden shields, bows, and armored breastplates. Those who carried materials did their work with one hand and held a weapon in the other, while his officers were posted in strategic places to respond quickly in case of an attack. Everyone worked from the first light of dawn until the stars came out at night. That’s when Nehemiah and his men left the safety of the half-finished walls to watch the roadways for the approaching enemy.

  Now, as they prepared for a possible assault on the second night, Nehemiah repeated his speech to the dozen men who had volunteered to watch with him. “If an attack does come, we’ll very likely be outnumbered. Don’t be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons and daughters, your wives and homes.”

  They took posts among the ruins of the Mishneh, positioning themselves behind deserted houses that offered a view of the main road leading to the Valley Gate. His men seemed tense and alert, wary of every little sound and movement. The sprawling area teemed with insects and was overgrown with weeds and briars. Dry grass prickled Nehemiah’s skin as he crouched behind the ruins of a burned-out house. The only light on this moonless night came from millions of stars filling the cloudless summer sky.

  After watching for more than an hour, Nehemiah heard a rustling noise behind him and whirled around. One of his volunteers, a lanky young man with sun-browned skin, came to crouch beside him armed with a bow and a quiver of arrows. He looked vaguely familiar to Nehemiah, and he tried to recall where he had seen him before tonight. “What’s your name?” he whispered, still wary of whom to trust.

  “Dan ben Yonah.”

  “You look very young to be a volunteer.”

  “I’m old enough. I know how to use a bow, and I’m not afraid to fight.”

  Nehemiah didn’t respond, listening for sounds in the darkness—an owl hooting, the grinding of crickets, the quiet rustle of his men shifting positions.

  “My family returned with Rebbe Ezra thirteen years ago,” Dan whispered, “to the patch of land in the District of Beth Hakkerem that belonged to our ancestors. But we were forced to mortgage it to a wealthy landowner named Malkijah ben Recab because of the drought.”

  Nehemiah suddenly remembered where he’d seen the young man before. “You came forward with the other men to protest at the temple, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Governor. And we are very grateful for what you tried to do for us. But Malkijah didn’t do what you asked him to. He didn’t cancel our debts or give back any of our land. And he refuses to free his bondservants.”

  Before Nehemiah could reply, one of his other men whispered, “Over there!” Nehemiah looked where he pointed and saw movement, a darker shape against the shadows. His heart sped up. His men nudged each other into alertness, and they gazed into the darkness. Dan quietly pulled an arrow from his quiver and fitted it into his bow. As the shapes emerged from the ruins and scampered across the road to disappear again, Nehemiah saw that it was the same pack of jackals they’d seen last night, returning to rummage among the deserted houses.

  He sat back again, his heart rate returning to normal. The young man still crouched beside him, waiting for his reply. If what Dan said was true and Malkijah hadn’t helped the poor, then Nehemiah was very disappointed in him. He considered Malkijah an ally and supporter, relying on him to rebuild the Dung Gate. He’d already served as a valuable informant, exposing a potential enemy spy when he’d warned about Tobiah’s son. Nehemiah had made Malkijah a commander, entrusting him with troops and weapons, putting him in charge of defending the southern approach to the city. In fact, his brother Ephraim had volunteered to fight alongside Malkijah because the gate was near his home at the southern tip of the city. A chill of dread shivered through Nehemiah when he remembered they were positioned there for a possible attack at this very moment.

  Knowing whom to trust was an issue that continued to plague Nehemiah. But at least Dan’s accusation against Malkijah would be easy to verify. “I’ll look into what you’ve told me,” Nehemiah promised. He left Dan and silently moved away, climbing the remains of an outdoor staircase that led to the rooftop of one of the ruined houses. He wanted to be alone as doubt gnawed at him. The deep divide between rich and poor had begun to heal, but the wound might rupture all over again, halting the wall’s progress if men like Malkijah refused to support Nehemiah’s reforms.

  His new lookout perch offered a clear view of the rubble-littered street and a large section of the deserted Mishneh. He crouched behind the remains of the parapet to wait. If the attack didn’t come tonight, Nehemiah feared that his men would grow complacent and bored, letting down their guard instead of remaining alert and motivated. Or worse, that fear would creep in as stealthily as the jackals had, heightening the unnerving sense of being watched and preyed upon.

  Midway through the night, Nehemiah spotted them. Not jackals this time but his enemies, advancing through the ruins like the flickering shadows of an oil lamp. He rubbed his eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on him. They weren’t. More than two dozen figures, weapons drawn, crept along the margins of the road toward the Yeshana Gate. Nehemiah’s men were outnumbered by more than two to one. Even so, he rose to his feet and whistled the signal to fight. His men let out a savage war whoop as he’d instructed them to do, so loud and bone-chilling that the enemy halted in their tracks. Nehemiah’s archers, including Dan, unleashed a flurry of arrows as Nehemiah clambered down the stairs and ran forward with the rest of his men to stop the attackers. With his heart hammering harder than he could ever recall, he unleashed the protective fury that he’d long felt for his brothers in order to protect Jerusalem. It rendered him fearless.

  It took only moments for the enemy to realize that they’d lost the element of surprise. They scattered in a dozen different directions, zigzagging through the rubble, disappearing into the Mishneh’s maze of winding, deserted streets. Nehemiah focused on one man and gave chase, sprinting to catch up. Now the moonless night worked against him, making it hard to follow his opponent and watch his footing at the same time. He saw Dan and the others also chasing the attackers, and he hoped they didn’t attack one another by mistake.

  After a few minutes of heart-pounding pursuit, Nehemiah gave up, furious that he hadn’t caught up with his enemy, that he hadn’t had a chance to fight him hand to hand. As his men slowly regrouped and gathered around him, he saw disappointment on their faces, as well. He beckoned to his swiftest runner. “Get a message out to all the other watch points throughout the city. Alert them of the aborted attack and warn them to remain vigilant.” Then Nehemiah and his men returned to the shadows to hide once again and keep watch.

  “Think they’ll try again?” Dan asked.

  “Possibly. But the element of surprise is gone. They know we’re waiting for them.”

  “How many more nights do you think we’ll have to do this?” another volunteer asked.

  “Sanballat’s spies may not have alerted him before now that we would be waiting, but he’ll know after tonight. We’ll do this every night, if we have to, until the threat eases. I’m not letting down my guard until the wall is finished and every gate is in place. But I have a feeling that once our enemies know we’re aware of their plot and that the Almighty One has frustrated it, we can all return to the wall, each to his own work.”

  “They won’t attack from the same direction the next time, will they?” someone asked.

  “Probably not, but we’ll keep guard over all of the western gates just to be sure.”

  As dawn finally lit up the Mishneh and the laborers and guards returned to their work on the wall, Nehemiah gave his men permission to go home and get some rest. He had just reached his field office inside the Valley Gate when one of his messengers found him. “I have a report to deliver to you, my lord. In
the last few hours before dawn, the enemy attacked your men outside the Dung Gate and—”

  Nehemiah didn’t wait to hear the rest. That’s where his stubborn brother was fighting. Nehemiah sprinted down the hill to the gate, arriving in time to see his commander Malkijah and his brother Ephraim emerging with the other men through the gaping hole where the gate would be, looking weary yet jubilant. The relief Nehemiah felt was overwhelming. His brother appeared dusty but unharmed, with smudges of dirt on his clothes and bits of leaves sticking to his hair.

  “The enemy crept up the Hinnom Valley,” Malkijah told him, “taking cover along the base of the cliffs. But our scouts stayed alert and spotted them.”

  “Was there a battle?”

  Malkijah nodded. “A brief one.” Nehemiah noticed dark smears on Malkijah’s tunic, a gory bandage wrapped around his left hand. “We bloodied a few of their men before they retreated, but we were outnumbered so we followed your advice and didn’t pursue them. They were all Samaritans from the looks of them.”

  “You’re injured,” Nehemiah said.

  “It’s nothing, Governor. I’ll be fine.” Malkijah looked pleased with himself and his men. Ephraim also looked elated at having done battle.

  “Our job is to guard the city, not get ourselves killed,” Nehemiah said. “This may not be over yet, so go home and get some rest. All of you.” He met Ephraim’s gaze but didn’t single him out, knowing his brother would resist being told what to do.

  “My wound is minor,” Malkijah protested, “and my work on the gate—”

  “I insist you go home and have your hand looked after. You’re a valuable member of my staff.”

  It wasn’t until later that day that he remembered Dan’s accusation against Malkijah. Nehemiah should have confronted him and asked if it was true, but lack of sleep and the long, tense night had dulled his thinking. He would wait for another time when they could talk in private. After all, hadn’t Malkijah proven his courage and allegiance in battle last night?

  Chapter

  37

  JERUSALEM

  Chana’s house was so close to the city wall that if she went up the outside stairs to the flat rooftop, she could watch the laborers setting building stones into place. Abba told her that half of the laborers now stood guard with spears and shields as the other half worked—and even those men wore swords. Chana longed to rejoin them and couldn’t. So every afternoon after finishing in the kitchen, she climbed up to the rooftop where she could at least view the ongoing work. She squinted in the sunlight to watch the men check the plumb line and level lines and was annoyed to see that they weren’t nearly as careful or accurate as she had been.

  Fear had settled over the city. Chana felt the tension everywhere she went like a frayed rope about to snap. This morning at the well she’d heard the huddled women whispering their fears for their husbands and sons who stood guard during the night. When she and Yudit went to buy fish in the marketplace, the merchant had told them about their enemy’s threats, relayed by an incoming caravan driver: “Before the Jews know it or see us, we will be right there among them and will kill them and put an end to the work.”

  Chana refused to cower at home, too frightened to go out. In fact, she would gladly continue building the wall if Abba would allow it. She watched with growing frustration as her father left home at dawn without her every morning and worked until the stars came out after sunset. “The sooner we finish the wall, the sooner we’ll all be safe,” he had told her this morning. “And don’t bother to ask, Chana. The answer is still no.”

  She and her sisters helped the servants cook the noon meal for the workers, but Abba sent men to the house to fetch it, refusing to allow his daughters to venture outside the walls. Chana had a lot of time to think while she ground grain into flour, kneaded the dough, and baked the rounds of flatbread on the stone griddle. When she wasn’t thinking about the wall, her thoughts continually returned to what Nava had told her when they’d talked at the temple. Was it really true that Malkijah and a group of men were conspiring against the governor? Chana didn’t want to believe it. Malkijah worked so hard to rebuild the Dung Gate. He had volunteered to fight against the attackers himself. Surely he was loyal to the governor. Nava must have misunderstood.

  But when Nava had relayed distressing news before, it had been true. Malkijah hadn’t freed his bondservants. He didn’t support the governor’s social reforms. Chana still cringed when she recalled how she had confronted him. By the time he had explained his reasons, Chana felt foolish and petty for accusing him. Maybe there was a logical explanation for what Nava had overheard this time, too. “What is it going to take to get you to trust me?” Malkijah had asked. Should she trust him now? She had no choice. She’d told him she still wanted to marry him. Yet she couldn’t forget Nava’s accusation: “He isn’t the man you think he is.”

  Chana had tried to raise the subject of a conspiracy with her father last night. He had returned from his work on the wall late in the evening, sweaty and exhausted. When she was alone with him after he’d finished his meal, she had probed for his opinion. “Abba, you’re on the ruling council with some of the other nobles and officials. Are they all in agreement with Governor Nehemiah?”

  “We haven’t had a council meeting in a while. We’re too busy working.”

  “But do you think they all support him?”

  “From what I can see they do. Why?”

  “I was thinking about how Nehemiah came out of nowhere and took over. And I know the council governed the province before he came. I wondered if any of them resented him for replacing their authority and ordering everyone around.”

  “If there’s simmering resentment, I haven’t heard it. Why are you asking about this, Chana?”

  She had tried to seem nonchalant, knowing that if she aroused Abba’s curiosity he might make her tell what she knew. “I’m just curious. I’ve been very surprised by what a strong, decisive leader Nehemiah is, and I just wondered if some people saw him differently.”

  Abba had slumped in his seat after dinner to sip the last of his wine, but he set down his cup and stirred as if preparing to rise. “Nehemiah united our people, eased a potential class war, and rebuilt our city wall from ruins—all in less than two months’ time. I don’t understand how anyone could resent him for accomplishing all of that.”

  “Me either, Abba—unless there are some wealthy nobles who resent being forced to take his oath and cancel the debts that the poorer people owe.”

  “I suppose. In that case, even a leader as strong as Governor Nehemiah will find it difficult to fight against basic human greed.” Abba had retired to bed a few minutes later.

  Now, by the time two laborers arrived to pick up the midday meal for all the workers, Chana was tired of doing battle with doubt and mistrust. She wanted to think about other things. “How is the work on the wall going?” she asked them.

  “Just fine, miss.”

  “Although everyone is tense,” the younger of the two men added. “We’re still in great danger. There could be another attack at any moment.”

  “Did my father tell you to say that? I know he’s trying to scare me to keep me away.”

  “No, miss. He never spoke to me about it.”

  “So we really are in great danger like everyone fears?” Chana asked. “Because I’ve only heard of one attack so far.”

  “No, just last night—” the younger man began, but the older one silenced him with a jab of his elbow.

  “What are you hiding from me?” Chana asked. She moved the basket of bread she had just filled out of their reach. “Tell me or I won’t send any bread with you. You’ll have to scoop up your lunch with your hands.”

  The men exchanged a long look, then the elbow-jabber sighed and said, “You may as well tell her what you were going to say. I’m hungry.”

  “A group of our men prevented an attack last night, miss.”

  “Where? What happened? Was anyone hurt?”


  “The enemy came sneaking through the Mishneh with swords and spears, right outside the Valley Gate.” He seemed pleased to offer proof of the danger she would be in if she returned to work. “Our men were waiting for them, though, and fought them off.”

  “So no one was killed or wounded,” she said. “Our guards did their job and kept everyone safe.”

  “Well, yes. But there was another attack outside the Dung Gate and the commander was injured—”

  “The commander?” Chana felt the blood drain from her face. “Malkijah ben Recab?”

  “Yes. How did you know—?” He was silenced again by a hard jab to his ribs.

  “How badly injured was he?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe it was just a rumor. . . . We should be going now, miss.” He pulled the basket of bread within reach and slipped his arm through the handle.

  Malkijah was injured? Memories of the night Yitzhak was attacked came flooding back, filling Chana with fear. Before the two workers were even out of her courtyard, she rushed into her room and pulled off her floury apron and the sweaty scarf that held back her hair.

  “What are you doing? Where are you going?” Sarah asked when Chana came out a moment later with her clothes changed and her hair combed.

  “I need to see if Malkijah is all right.”

  “Do you want us to come with you?” Yudit asked.

  “No. I’d rather go alone.”

  She hurried up the Hill of Ophel to Malkijah’s house, a knot of fear pulling tighter and tighter in her stomach.

  The housekeeper who opened Malkijah’s door looked surprised to see her. “Miss Chana, come in. What brings you here?”

  Chana wondered if all of her whirling emotions were visible on her face. She forced herself to calm down, trying not to envision Malkijah lying pale and lifeless the way Yitzhak had, inching closer and closer to death. “I heard that Malkijah was wounded last night. Is he here? I came to find out how he is and if there’s anything I can do.”